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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618641">A Pink Ribbon and a Leather Cuff</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyPanda3126/pseuds/NerdyPanda3126'>NerdyPanda3126</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>LBSC Sprint Fics [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Chance Meetings, Endgame Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, F/M, First Meetings, LBSC Sprint Fic Challenge, Minor Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, tattoo artist!luka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:34:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyPanda3126/pseuds/NerdyPanda3126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe, everyone has a dream at 16 that gives them a clue about their soulmate. A random object that's imprinted on their wrist for the rest of their lives. For Marinette, she was just starting to think she'd never figure hers out when she walks into Luka's tattoo shop to have it changed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>LBSC Sprint Fics [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>LBSCSprintFicChallenge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Pink Ribbon and a Leather Cuff</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I swear this started as a <a href="https://lovebugs-and-snakecharmers.tumblr.com/post/634774438735495168/lbsc-sprint-fic-challenge-1111-182020">sprint fic</a> and after my first 15 minutes were up I just... kept going... </p><p>The rules are three 15-minute sprints with 24 hours for light editing, which includes new writing to smooth transitions or make it feel complete.</p><p>Except of course on this one, I did one sprint that morphed into an entire writing session... oops! </p><p>Prompt: "My soul chose yours. And a soul doesn't just forget that."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> In her Dream, Marinette walked through an endless room filled with innumerable objects. Everywhere she looked there was something different. She wandered through, searching—or more accurately, her soul was searching. For what, it was impossible to guess. Whichever object called out to her, whichever one she chose, would be imprinted on her wrist for the rest of her life. Just like everyone else who had the Dream on their sixteenth birthday.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She stopped to touch a silver necklace with a neon green paw print. It warmed under her fingertips, but it wasn’t what she was looking for. She let her fingers trail over the piles of objects beside her. A pair of headphones, a pencil, a unicorn mobile, a pair of glasses, a mirror— everything seemingly random but connected to someone she knew. Or maybe didn’t know yet. Nothing was jumping out to her. She’d heard of this happening. There was always a little fear. Maybe there isn’t someone out there. Maybe none of these objects are mine. She let the worry float over her and kept going.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A bright flash caught her eye and she turned her head to look for it. It was on her left, and the closer she got to it the brighter it started to glow. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch it, expecting it to burn, but it was cool to her touch and still glowing like the northern star. She clutched it to her chest and felt wakefulness rush back to her. This was it. This was hers. The one her soul had chosen.  </em>
</p><p>When she woke up, Marinette instantly stared down at her wrist to get her first glimpse of the object she’d chosen in her Dream. She squinted down at it, unsure at first what she was looking at. It was a tube of some sort, with writing on it. Like a paint tube or… she glanced over to her vanity where her makeup lay waiting for her. Or a tube of foundation. She groaned and flopped back on her pillows. </p><p>“What am I supposed to do with this?” She lamented to her mom once she’d gone downstairs. “It makes no sense!” </p><p>“Well, sweetie, it usually doesn’t at first.” Her mom sat and pulled her sleeve up to expose her wrist, showing Marinette the bag of rice flour that was replicated on her skin. “When I first got this, I had no idea what it meant. But as soon as I walked into your father’s shop and saw him with this bag of flour on his station, I knew.” She smiled fondly at the memory before she reached out to take Marinette’s wrist. “When the timing is right, you’ll know, too.”</p>
<hr/><p>It had been three years since Marinette first got her mark and it was still just as meaningless as the morning she’d woken up with it. Her parents had both told her so many times it was better not to look, to let it find you, but she couldn’t help it. She frequented makeup stores, but none of them carried the brand that was on her wrist or had even heard of it. No one she knew used it, either. Most likely it was something that wasn’t on the market, yet. Which made her obscure and useless clue even more obscure and useless. </p><p>She started going on blind dates instead, hoping to find someone that she could be happy with. Alya had made that decision and she seemed perfectly fine. Nino wasn’t her soulmate, and she wasn’t his, but they were in love, and Alya insisted that was what mattered. </p><p>Marinette started keeping a wide pink ribbon tied around her wrist and tried not to think about it too much. After all, that’s what her mom kept telling her. But patience was not Marinette’s strong suit. And her mark was always in the back of her mind, no matter how hard she tried to forget about it. Somewhere out there was someone she was meant to be with. And all her blind dates ended the same way. </p><p>“I’m sorry. You’re not the one.” </p>
<hr/><p>“You did<em> what</em>?” Marinette snatched Alya’s wrist to look at the brand new ‘soulmate tattoo’ she sported. </p><p>“Had it changed. Nino did, too.” Alya was gleaming with pride, even more than the sparkling diamond on her left hand.</p><p>Marinette dropped Alya’s wrist and fidgeted with her ribbon to adjust it, covering the edges of her mark that had started peeking out. “I didn’t know you could do that.” </p><p>“Well, not officially, but this tattoo artist is amazing. You can’t even see that awful thing anymore, look!” She traced the old outline of the broken rocking horse she’d had since she was sixteen, carefully covered by a dark green tortoise shell. </p><p>“Yeah. It’s great, Alya.” Marinette tried to smile and be happy for Alya. But the concept of <em> changing </em> your mark had never occurred to her. What would she even change it to, if she could? </p><p>“He said he does coverups for single people, too, M.” Alya’s eyes flicked to Marinette’s wrist, to the ribbon she always kept tied around her enigmatic mark so she didn’t have to worry about it. “He said he could make it something that actually has meaning for you instead. Maybe you could get those flowers you always use in your designs?”  </p><p>“Covering it up doesn’t change the fact that it’s still there,” Marinette mumbled. </p><p>“No, but it does prevent you from shooting down anyone who doesn’t fit the bill.” </p><p>“I don’t mean to! It just—”</p><p>“I know.” Alya squeezed Marinette’s hand reassuringly. “Not everyone is like me and Nino. I know you want to find them. Just… promise me you’ll think about going to talk to him at least? He’s a nice guy, and he understands that sometimes choice is more important than fate.” </p>
<hr/><p>The bell to the tattoo artist’s shop jingled quietly as Marinette opened the door. The smell of antiseptic greeted her and made her nose wrinkle. There was artwork hung at regular intervals throughout the room—samples, Marinette guessed, of the artist’s work. And in between the framed pieces were polaroids tacked up with push pins of people proudly displaying their new tattoos. Mostly couples, Marinette noticed, holding up their wrists and smiling. Alya and Nino were probably on that wall somewhere. </p><p>“Be right there!” A voice called from somewhere in the back. </p><p>She wandered up to the counter and flipped through a book of pricing and common images while she waited. The Chinese characters offered had been well-researched and it made her feel a little better about talking to this guy—Luka, she remembered Alya had said. His name was Luka. </p><p>“Sorry about that,” Luka said as he appeared. He was tall and lanky, with a shock of black hair dyed electric blue at the ends and gauges she could fit her pinky through. For a tattoo artist, he was suspiciously void of tattoos, and she noticed instantly that he had a wide leather cuff on his right wrist. Her nose wrinkled again as a fresh waft of rubbing alcohol hit her. “Just cleaning up. What can I help you with?” </p><p>He leaned against the counter easily, as if she were an old friend, and focused not on her face, but on the book she was looking at. Or maybe on the pink ribbon tied around her wrist. She pulled her hand away self-consciously. </p><p>“My friend, Alya, she wanted me to… well, you see, I haven’t figured out my mark and it—well, it’s stupid, really, but Alya said that you might, well—not that you might, but that you mentioned you could…” She trailed off and tugged at the knot.</p><p>He nodded as if he understood. “Alya, yeah. I remember her. And Nino. She said she might be sending someone my way. Wait right there.” He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the counter and gave her a kind smile before he turned and walked back to the back. She heard him rifling through something and he returned relatively quickly with a few small tubes in his hands. </p><p>“Now, before I do any coverups, especially for marks, I always recommend…” He eyed her forearm then switched through a couple, setting them down beside him as he seemed to rule them out. He settled on one and offered it to her. “I always recommend covering it up with this for a while first. Less permanent, and if you decide you want it after all, then no harm done.” </p><p>With trembling fingers, she took the tube of foundation he was offering her.  </p><p>“This stuff—” he tapped on it while she held it “—it’s amazing. They use it in Hollywood all the time. For actors, you know? You won’t even know it’s there.” He smiled at her again and started picking the other bottles back up. </p><p>She stared at it in her hands. She knew that tube of foundation. It was the same brand—the same color even—that she’d been staring at for three years. Looking for, for three years. It hadn’t even occurred to her that it might’ve been something specifically used to cover tattoos. Her eyes snapped back up to Luka and to the leather cuff on his wrist. Luka believed in choice, Alya had said. Should she even tell him? </p><p>“If after a week or so you still want it gone, come back and see me,” he said. He flashed her a brilliant smile and she was too stunned to even form a word of thanks in return. She left the shop in a daze. When she finally came to, she had found her way to Alya’s door.</p>
<hr/><p>“But this is <em> good </em> news,” Alya said as she tossed the foundation back to Marinette. “Why wouldn’t you tell him?” </p><p>“I don’t know! I… I blanked. I was just… surprised? I guess?” Marinette pouted down at what was undeniably her object. “Three years of wondering, and it’s as simple as that. He just hands it to me and walks away.” </p><p>“I wonder what his mark is,” Alya mused aloud. “He was pretty quiet while we were there, just kinda listened while we talked and smiled as he worked.” </p><p>“He’s probably changed it already.”</p><p>Alya shook her head. “I don’t think so. He said he thought <em> people </em>should be able to choose, not that he personally wanted to.” She shrugged. “Besides, I don’t know why it’s such a bad thing. Maybe you could get to know each other as people before dropping the big ‘soulmate’ bomb.” </p><p>Marinette paused to consider. It wasn’t a bad idea, not really, to get to know someone first. She pulled the ribbon away from her mark to look at it. Now that she had the object in her hands, the mark itself seemed more devoid of meaning than she expected it to. Her mom always smiled whenever she looked at hers, as if remembering something special. But Marinette was still waiting for the realization to catch up to her. </p><p>“It’s not a bad thing,” she said decisively. She uncapped the tube and smeared a little of the makeup across her forearm. Luka hadn’t been lying; her mark disappeared in seconds and she was staring at a blank expanse of skin. It made her feel giddy—free, even. “And he did say that he wanted me to be sure.” </p>
<hr/><p>A week later, she was wrinkling her nose again as she opened the door to Luka’s shop. She had ditched her ribbon in favor of the foundation. Luka glanced up from the tattoo he was working on and smiled when he saw her before his head dipped back over his work. The angry buzz of the machine prevented much conversation, anyways. She chose to walk around the room instead and look at the artwork he had framed. </p><p>He liked flowers, she noticed. They showed up a lot in almost every large tattoo he had pictured. The polaroids were her favorite, though. She liked looking at the different objects, the before and afters, and the absolute change in the people pictured. How they held themselves differently, their shoulders up higher and their smiles brighter. Luka was even in a few of them, his arm thrown affectionately around the people he had helped. </p><p>“You’re back,” he said, and his low voice in her ear made her jump. He leaned back, chuckling, and put his hands up. “Sorry, I’ve been told I have a tendency to sneak up on people.” He pointed to her wrist and raised his eyebrows. “Shall we take a look?” </p><p>She nodded and her heart started pounding in her throat when he placed his hand on her back just under her shoulder blades to guide her over to a low table and couch off to the side. </p><p>“All right, so I’ll need to see it first before we can talk about changing it into anything.” He pulled open a drawer and set out a pen and a pad of paper before he grabbed what looked like a package of baby wipes. When he caught her watching him, he shrugged. “You’re not the first to come in with it on.” He gestured for her to hold out her arm and steadied her before he started wiping gently at her wrist. </p><p>She held her breath as the lines of her mark started to appear. Not that he would recognize it. Would he? Maybe he would—it was his suggestion and he’d put it in her hand. As he continued wiping, she tried to watch him for any hint of recognition, but his hair was falling over his eyes and hiding his face from her. </p><p>Finally, he stopped and looked at her uncovered mark. His eyes came back up to meet hers. He understood. He knew. She bit her lip and waited for him to say something. </p><p>“I don’t think I got your name before,” he murmured. His thumb rubbed against her wrist gently in what seemed like an unconscious movement. </p><p>“It’s Marinette.” </p><p>“Marinette.” His breath came out in a shallow laugh and he leaned back and covered his eyes with his hand. “Marinette,” he repeated, more to himself than to her. He shook his head and started to undo his leather cuff. “All this time I thought…” He laughed and shook his head again. Once the skin of his wrist was uncovered, he rubbed at it before he looked down incredulously. She resisted the urge to peek, even though her heart was fluttering in her chest. Something had clicked into place for him, too. That had to mean—</p><p>He glanced up at her before he bared the inside of his right wrist. His mark was stark against the skin that was pale from being hidden for so long. It was a simple puppet, held up by strings connected to a cross at the top. </p><p>“It’s a marionette,” he said with a breathless laugh. “I looked it up.” </p><p>She touched her fingertips to it lightly. </p><p>“I always thought it was something you <em> saw</em>, not something you <em> heard </em> for the first time.” He was grinning again, that same bright smile. “Marinette.” Her name rolled off his tongue, only off by a syllable. </p><p>He sighed deeply and sat back up to pick up his pen and lean over his notepad. "Okay. So what were you thinking on the design for this?" </p><p>She blinked back at him. "You still want to change it for me?" </p><p>"It's your choice." He smirked sideways at her.</p><p>"You never changed yours." </p><p>"Well, that was my choice." </p><p>She reached over to fidget with her ribbon before she realized it wasn't there. Her hand dropped back into her lap limply. When she glanced over at him he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. </p><p>"Why didn't you change it?" she asked. </p><p>"Because…" He grabbed his leather cuff from where he had dropped it and offered it to her. Shyly, she held her wrist out for him. He wrapped the cuff around her wrist before he glanced up at her again. "I am a hopeless romantic, and I like the idea that someone…" He smiled as he snapped the clasp shut. "Someone out there chose me and I chose them." </p><p>He lingered before he let her hand go.</p><p>"Looks good on you." He turned back around and she caught a pink tinge to his cheeks as he cleared his throat. "Um, but that really only works if that someone chooses me, too. And I don't think it should be because of a mark, or a sign, or fate, but because they want to be with me. So, if you want to change yours, then I think you should change it." </p><p>He tapped his pen on his paper nervously and kept his eyes down. She looked at his cuff on her wrist and smiled. </p><p>"I like this," she said quietly. He looked up and caught her eye. She gulped before she continued. "Do you think I could maybe… hang onto it? Just while I decide, you know on the… on the change?" </p><p>His lips quirked up into a smile. "Yeah, sure." </p><p>"And do you think we could maybe meet for coffee? Just, you know, whenever… to talk about it?" </p><p>His pen stilled on the paper and he turned to look at her, his eyes soft and his smile widening by the second. "I'd like that." </p>
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